Nothing says “The joys of the Yuletide season” quite like a trip to the vet.
On Friday I had to take Louis Catorze for his steroid shot and, astonishingly, there was bone-chilling silence on the walk there. It was quite the departure from his usual gut-wrenching screaming, especially that one time when he screamed so badly that some random passer-by didn’t believe I was taking my cat to the vet, and thought I’d just grabbed Catorze off the street. The man actually stood and watched me as I walked off, to see if I even knew which way the vet was.
As soon as we arrived and Catorze realised that we were in his least favourite place in the world, he broke his silence. Luckily nobody else was in the waiting room at the time, so at least we were spared whining, upset dogs and other cats being goaded into joining in the screaming.
Anyway, we have two pieces of news:
Firstly, Catorze doesn’t have a heart murmur; the little shit was faking it. Thank God I didn’t find this out via the £500 scan.
Secondly, he has snapped the end off one of his fangs. It’s a minuscule chip, on the same side where one of his jowls hangs lower than the other, hence why we didn’t notice it despite knowing every millimetre of his silly little face. And there’s no exposed dental pulp (ugh – I wish I had never learned that this is a thing) so he isn’t experiencing any pain or sensitivity. But if it gets worse – and let’s face it, it’s hardly going to get better, is it? – the fang will have to come out.
We then talked about alternatives to steroids, such as hypoallergenic food (nope) and daily medication (nope), and a blood test (HELL to the NOPE) to determine the exact state of Catorze’s drug-ravaged innards. The vet also suggested that we monitor his drinking, but I have no idea how to do that; Catorze not only drinks from his glass but also from the surface of the outdoor table, the manky old watering can by the barbecue and probably a whole host of other vile places that don’t bear thinking about.
Oh, and the pleasure of all of the above cost me £80.
Within minutes of getting home and being released from his transportation pod, Catorze was on my lap. I don’t know whether he forgave me or whether he just forgot what had just happened, but I suspect the latter.
I’m glad, at least, that one of us is over it.
louiscatorze.com 
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